


The Angry Post of Mrs. Eliza J. Thumble

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-27
Updated: 2008-03-08
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: In the years following the war, Harry faces the challenges of his adult life.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

_To Entirelytoo_

_For being brilliant_

_And alas, too busy_

_Many hugs to you_

_And glares at your sadistic professors._

* * *

  


**_The Angry Post of Mrs. Eliza J. Thumble_ **

_Introduction_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I am writing this as regards the destruction of my fifty year old Windsor china set._

_As I learned on the evening of the twenty-second of last month, the Auror department under your guidance and the illustrious Mr Robards has taken less care than usual with the personal property of your protectorates; being myself and the property of my deceased grandmother, Mrs Julia P Worthington, formerly of Kensington. The care with which the two aurors dispatched to my place of residence was such that they found it permissible to heedlessly and by means of utter clumsiness and uncontrolled movements to decimate a very old and prized family heirloom. I cannot describe the pain this loss has caused me._

_I have no doubt that you will be issuing me a formal apology, and that you will have a care to watch the training and the politeness of your employees while they are doing their noble civic duty. Such, however, has not been my experience._

_Yours, Most Sincerely,_  
Mrs Eliza J. Thumble  
206 Mariner’s Cove  
Brighton 

 

The clock on the wall struck three, and the sound of a semi-agonized groan issued from somewhere within an impossibly deep mountain of paperwork sitting on a desk. With a dull thud, a dark-haired young man’s head slammed into the pile of papers in frustration. “Fucking Emmons…” he muttered irritably, dragging his quill to the parchment once again. He glared down at the papers about the death eater in question, who in actuality had no direct connection the dark haired young man’s frustration. Emmons’ scowling face glared balefully up at him from the surface of the topmost paper. He had, according to the heading of the page, been “recently apprehended at the residence of Mrs. Eliza Thumble at 206 Mariner’s Cove in Brighton.”

He swore, remembering the incident in question. The woman was a mad old bat who had started hitting the aurors with her umbrella when they’d accidentally knocked a platter of very old and expensive china off her sitting room table. An irate letter to the ministry had followed. Flipping through the case file, he found the letter and groaned once again. This particularly scathing piece of literature meant another several hours of paperwork and apologetic letters, despite the apparently simple _Reparo_ that had been done on-site.

Perhaps it was the late—or early—hour of the night that made Harry Potter come to the conclusion that all this was nothing more than an enormous load of waffle. _Who cares about Mrs Thumble’s china anyway_? He thought to himself bitterly. _I’ve destroyed plenty of china! I accidentally Vanished a set when I was nine…_ He thought about this. _Hmmm…they did reappear two weeks later, strangely full of fresh green tea and under Aunt Petunia’s couch…delicious, though...if a bit dusty..._

His thoughts drifted wildly, far from the mundane, brainless paperwork, spinning together random connections from his past. _That couch was about as stunningly uncomfortable as this bloody chair…I wish I was at the Burrow_ … He sighed deeply as he leaned back in the stiff, wooden chair. _That couch is the most comfortable thing in the world…Ginny and I always used to sit there together until Mrs Weasley kicked me out at half two… always wondered how she could tell, though…the only clock in that room is the Family Clock…_

He rested his head on his hands. _I wonder what Ginny’s doing right now; what the clock shows. Is she asleep? Is she still on the road with the Harpies…? Would that show Travelling or Work for her? Would it be in between? Would it spin wildly like that time…_ He mustered a grin at that memory. _What will happen when’s she’s not Ginny Weasley anymore? Will her spoon on the clock fall off and have to be replaced? Or will it change itself to read Ginny Potter?_

The enormity of the previous thought came crashing down on him suddenly, the force of it knocking him backwards off his chair, knocking Emmons’ file to the ground, along with Mrs Thumble’s blasted letter.

Harry no longer cared about the pile of papers now strewn about his floor or the throbbing pain in his back. He had to see her, talk to her, _tell_ her. He paced the room wildly, suddenly realizing that he actually had no idea where Ginny was, given the Harpies’ latest tour. He sat down on the floor on the pretext of picking up the mess, but really just blown away by his own revelation.

A red-head stumbled blearily into the room. “What the hell?” Ron demanded, still half asleep, gesturing wildly at what could be anything from the pile of papers, to the mess on the floor, to the Harry on the floor.

Harry stared up at his best friend of over ten years, and without even thinking, burst out with, “I want to marry your sister.”

An awkward silence ensued.

They stared at each other, Harry still sitting on the floor, Ron standing at the doorway looking completely baffled. Eventually, he asked, “…Why?”

They paused again awkwardly, now trying not to meet each other’s eyes.

“Well,” Harry muttered eventually. “Um, I really like her.”

Ron stared at him in something between horror and confusion. “This is obviously a nightmare. You’re a complete nutter and I’m going back to bed.”

“Um, okay.” Harry still had not managed to get off the floor. He heard Ron’s door close and looking around, Harry mumbled, “I am so fucked,” to the room in general. He fell backwards onto Eliza Thumble’s angry letter, arms flung wide. He stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep, confused thoughts about a mixture of his girlfriend, Eliza Thumble, his soon-to-be-irate boss, and strangely, dive-bombing pigeons swirling about his mind.

Ironically enough, at that very moment, two innocent pigeons were brutally awakened by a furious man storming from the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic. “Bloody English meddlers!” he muttered. “Those two were my best yet!” Shooting a furious glare at his surroundings, looking for anything to lash out at, he spotted the two pigeons and pulled out his wand. “Avada Kedavra!” he shouted before stalking away, leaving behind him a tragic cooing and a cloud of feathers slowly fluttering earthward.


	2. Chapter the First

Chapter the First

_Dear Mrs Thumble_ , Harry wrote with a sigh.  

_I am deeply sorry to hear about the accidental damage done to your personal property on the 22 June at the hands of the auror department.  I regret any pain this incident may have caused you and am certainly willing to discuss a redress of the issue beyond the already done repairing of your prized possessions._   

Harry paused, quill over his inkwell, contemplating what on earth to write next.  Mrs Thumble had already written to various high profile ministry members about everything from minutiae about petty laws to the handling of the remaining Death Eaters.  Now that the auror department had actually captured one in her house on his orders, it was his turn to receive irritating letters from the ninety-seven year old witch with too much time on her hands.  

He’d already heard it from Robards, but he still had to remind himself to be impeccably polite to the woman.  Her extensive wealth apparently found its way into many ministry funded projects, such as the rebuilding of Gringotts after the war and the Muggleborn Assistance Fund.  However, no matter how generously this shrewish woman gave, Harry found it difficult to be polite to someone who had now notoriously beaten an auror with an umbrella in the midst of capturing a Death Eater.  _You’d think the umbrella beatings would be directed at the mass murderer, not the person trying to catch him,_ he thought with a wry smile.  _Ginny would have had the umbrella down Emmons’ throat in seconds..._   

He let the mental image of his ferocious girlfriend fighting off Death Eaters single-handedly and in extremely revealing Amazonian leather garb play about his mind before his pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a throat-clearing cough.  

Spinning around in his chair, he saw the girl in question’s older brother, looking awkwardly over at the letter he was writing.  “You, um, left early this morning,” he commented, obviously remembering Harry’s comment the night before.  “Lot of work?”

He nodded.  “Robards has me doing paperwork on the Emmons’ case; apparently our lads did some damage to that annoying Thumble woman’s property, so there’s extra.”  

Ron nodded in what Harry supposed he thought was a sage manner.  “So that’s what you were up to all last night.”

Everything was suddenly much more awkward.  Harry remembered vividly just what he had burst out with, and he was now certain Ron remembered it but wasn’t sure if it was all just a bad dream.  He nodded slowly.  “Yeah, I was working.”

Silence fell, and Harry looked up to see Ron turning an impressive shade of embarrassed red.  “So, um...I didn’t dream that, did I?”

Harry didn’t question Ron’s vagueness.  “I want to marry her,” he whispered, looking up from where he sat.  “I’m going to ask her soon.”  

Ron’s face went from red to purple.  “Not a dream, then.  Um.  Best of luck?”  

He rolled his eyes at that.  “Thanks, mate.  No advice, no blessing?  No last minute suggestion to run while I still can?”  

Ron snickered a bit at that one.  “Reckon you’re a bit too far along for that. We’d never find your body if you ditched her now.”

“Very helpful,” Harry retorted wryly. “Glad to know you’re taking an active interest.”

Ron considered this.  “Well, I figure we’ve been brothers since First Year...now you’re just giving yourself an excuse to come to all the Weasley family Christmases.”  He grinned, trying to make the atmosphere a little lighter.  

He laughed at that.  “I don’t need an excuse.  You and I both know that I’ve been welcome to that madhouse since I was eleven.”  His grin fell as he thought about all those years.  “Do...do you think she’ll say yes?”

“You’re out of your mind if you’re even asking me that.  Anyway, I was stopping by ‘cause Mum owled asking if we wanted to have dinner at the Burrow tonight.  I think she’s worried two young wizards sharing a flat will eventually starve or die of food poisoning, despite the fact that I’ve managed to survive yours.”  Ron grinned.  “Shall I send back a prompt ‘yes, of course,’ or is my sister coming back this evening?”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “I’ll be at dinner tonight.  Ginny’s not back ‘til tomorrow night, and I haven’t the foggiest clue what I’m doing, so I doubt I’ll go down on one knee then and there.”  He groaned down at the letter he was writing.  “I really should get back to this before Robards comes in and slaughters me.  See you at the Burrow?”

Ron nodded.  “Yeah, I’ve got work to do.  I’ll see you then.”  He slouched off, visibly shaken by Harry’s decision.  

Harry, however, turned back to the letter to the irritating Mrs Thumble.  _However upsetting though I am certain the incident in question was to you, I would like to take this opportunity on behalf of the Auror Department to thank you for your role in the capturing of one-time Death Eater, Mr Menelaus Emmons.  Your devotion to the upholding of civic honour is to be highly regarded, and without such understanding and loyal citizens such as yourself, our task of ensuring the peace throughout Wizarding Britain would be a far more difficult one._

“Potter!” 

Harry stifled a groan as he heard his boss’s characteristic bark of his name.  Clearly, this morning could not actually get worse.  “Yes, Sir?” he asked politely, expertly hiding the spectacularly vulgar monologue that was increasing slowly in ferocity.  

“Have you finished the report on the Emmons case?”  Robards was fixing him with a glare of alarming intensity.  “I need at least the first twenty pages by this afternoon; we’re starting the judicial proceedings and we need the evidence we had for apprehending him post-June 1998, even though we can build a trial on his actions before the Fall.”

He breathed an internal sigh of relief.  He’d organised the paperwork for that, but much beyond that was still a disaster.  “Of course, Sir.  Also, I’ve almost finished the apology to Mrs Thumble.  Would you like to add anything to it, as Head of the Department?”

For the scarcest moment, Harry thought Robards had smiled.  “Course not!  Mad bint’s been bothering me for years about every bloody thing that goes wrong in this damn building!  Your turn now, Potter.  You should at least be used to the attention, Saviour of the Wizarding World and all.”  

“Thank you, Sir, I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry retorted sarcastically.  “Would you like the file now, so you can look over the evidence before you present it to the Wizengamot?”  

Robards merely held out a hand for the file.  “Finish the damn letter and send it off straight away.  Hopefully a prompt response will keep the old bat off our arses for at least a week.”

Harry nodded.  “Of course, Sir.”

Robards started to walk away, but stopped before he was out the door.  “Oh, and Granger’s stopping by in a moment or two.  Our lads in Bulgaria are having a devil of a time with extradition and I think she wanted extra information on the Eaters in question before she ships out.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I’ll make sure she’s up to date.”  Harry turned back to the letter, trying to think of anything else to add to the letter before sending it.  Giving up, as anything he said was unlikely to change the opinion of this stubborn old coot, he signed it, _Most sincerely, Mr Harry Potter, Head of Special Operations, Auror Department_.

He folded the letter, sealed it, and handed it to the waiting owl.  “Thank God that’s done, then.”  Turning back to the pile of paperwork on his desk, he worked diligently until Hermione arrived half an hour later, tucking her beaded bag into her pocket, her travelling cloak already on.  “Harry, thank goodness you’re here,” she gasped out.  “Records was being useless with giving me the copies I need for this.  I’m joining Percy and his team in Sofia tonight and I need--”

Harry held up a hand.  “Slow down.  What’s going on?  Robards just said something about Bulgaria.  Are they still not extraditing Yaxley?  You’d think we’d have iron-clad enough evidence that he was clearly in defiance of the law, if not basic human rights.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “You’d think that, but their head of judicial affairs is arguing that as the laws in Britain supported his actions at the time, we have no case against him.  Do you have _anything_ that I can use when I’m in Sofia?”  

He nodded.  “Well, aside from my once ‘questionable’ testimony regarding his involvement in Dumbledore’s death and the first battle of Hogwarts, there is evidence linking him to several murders as he was fleeing the country.  I’ll give you my copy of his case file; it might have details yours doesn’t.”  He began rooting through his desk drawers.  “I dunno, though.  Can’t you just argue the atrocity of his actions like you were talking about?  Last time you were over for dinner I asked you about this and you talked about those muggle trials after Grindelwald...Nurmen...no, that wasn’t it...”

“Nuremberg?” she asked.  “Yes, Wizarding Britain is acknowledging the concept of war crimes, but that doesn’t mean Bulgaria will accept my arguments on that stance, especially given that their judicial head is notoriously blood prejudiced.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her before turning momentarily to his pile of paperwork.  “Come on, Hermione.  You’re bloody brilliant, you can argue anything.  That’s why you switched from Magical Creatures to Law Enforcement.”  

“I can argue anything in Britain, Harry,” she corrected him.  “Laws are different throughout the world; a lot of the old prejudices are still fully entrenched, whether they be bloodlines or gender biases.  If this was a problem with Saudi Arabia like Percy had last year with carpets, I wouldn’t even be allowed to argue in court for being a witch.  Besides, I only started with Law Enforcement six months ago.”

“I’ve heard this before, Hermione...” Harry muttered.  “Witches aren’t respected, et cetera.  Face facts: here, you are the single most brilliant member of the magical law team, and you’re going to walk all over the Bulgarian Judicial Head, and if he tries to bully you around for being muggleborn, you’ll ignore him, head high, and do your job.  Because that’s what you’re the best at, and that’s why you’re going to Sofia.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that.  “And I suppose this flattery means you want something?”

He turned red.  “Advice?”

She groaned.  “No, I am not helping you with your paperwork before I leave; I’ve got enough to do on my own, especially with this mess.”

Harry turned a still more impressive shade of red.  “Well, no.  I was, um...well...I was thinking I might, might...”

“Might what, Harry?  Stutter at me?”  Hermione smirked at him.  “Spit it out, or I’m leaving.”

“I might...um, I mean I’m going to...I’mgoingtoaskGinnytomarryme.” Having successfully managed to admit to this yet again, Harry slammed his head into his desk with an audible thunk.  “And I have _no idea_ what I’m doing.”

Hermione was biting her lower lip, trying to keep from laughing.  “Congratulations,” she said.  “You’ve stumbled across every bloke’s problem.  My suggestion is start with the basics.  Have you got a ring?”

He looked at her, wide-eyed.  

“Not as such, then.”  Without taking her cloak off, she sat down.  “I can’t stay long; I have to be off to Sofia, but if you want my advice, it is: keep it simple; don’t plan anything elaborate; and speak from the heart.”  She leaned forward, gave him a kiss on the cheek and stood back up, grinning happily.  “You can repay me by telling that to Ron when he gets his head out of his arse.”  

“But!”  Harry protested desperately.  “As I said, I don’t know where to start!  Where do I even go to buy a ring?  I can’t buy from some Wizarding jeweller; Rita Skeeter would pounce all over that and Ginny would know before she even gets home, which doesn’t seem right at all!  Do I go to a muggle jeweller’s?  I don’t know the first thing about rings; how am I supposed to wander in someplace and not make a complete arse of myself?”  

Hermione, by this point, was laughing at him.  “If you want to avoid the papers, go to a muggle store.  Exchange anywhere from five hundred to three thousand galleons, depending on how nice a ring you’re planning on getting, but I honestly can’t see Ginny walking around with a rock that takes up half her finger.  Now I really do have to go; I’ll miss my portkey to Sofia.”  She pulled Harry up into a hug.  “Best wishes, and congratulations.  She’ll be thrilled, I’m certain.”

“Oh, don’t forget your Yaxley file,” Harry reminded her, pointing at the thick folder full of papers.  “Hopefully something in there will be of some help.  Good luck dealing with the Bulgarians, and try to catch a Vultures game if you can.”  

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked off, muttering something that sounded like, “Bloody quidditch obsession,” under her breath.  

Harry, however, turned back to his work, slowly shovelling his way through the mountains of forms from magical law enforcement, filling out the details on requisitions for evidence, and beginning his records for the latest Death Eater hunt.  Carefully dictating to his quill, he tried to maintain his focus on his job with nominal success. 

He sighed, frustrated.  War had been one thing—he knew exactly who his enemies were and most of the time even _where_ they were.  But this was a different frustrating matter entirely.  For months, he and his team would desperately track the sometimes nearly invisible footprints of a Death Eater in hiding, either in Britain or abroad, for about five minutes of life- and limb-endangering battle, promptly followed by another six months of paperwork and trials.  

Now, when it looked like they’d finally managed to track down Yaxley and whatever other former Death Eaters had followed him to Bulgaria, the government was digging in their heels to protect someone Harry had personally seen commit atrocities.  And still, the same old prejudices kept them powerful.  

Hours later, Harry shrugged his cloak on to leave; the Bulgarian espionage team would be reporting that evening by floo; he had a few hours to catch some sleep before dinner, or to wander around to kill some time.  

That day, he chose wandering about muggle London.  His thoughts were still too wound from his earlier revelations regarding Ginny to even contemplate hitting the pillow.  Blankly, he wandered about the Strand and into the West End, before finding himself standing in front of a store bedecked with blue and silver on Old Bond Street.  

He stared in blankly for a moment, before realising just what those shining cases held.  Amused at the timing of this, he walked confidently into the store, prepared to pick out a ring and come back with muggle money to pay for it.

However, he was not particularly prepared for the glittering scene before him.  The window of the store had been promising, but the interior of the store was a treasure trove Harry hadn’t seen the likes of since his rather infamous break-in to Gringotts years before.  Case upon case was filled with priceless jewellery iced with diamonds.  _Oh Merlin_ , he thought to himself, _What have I gotten myself into..._  

Walking up to a case filled with rings, he looked down, feeling enormously overwhelmed.  Every ring seemed to look exactly the same as the one next to it, each coated in diamonds and other precious stones.  Eventually a salesman in an impeccable suit stepped over to him.  “Sir, do you need assistance?” he asked with an air of boredom.  

Harry ignored the uppity tone of the man and said, “Um, yes.  I’m just browsing for now, but if you could tell me about some of the rings, that would be much appreciated.”

It did not escape his notice that the salesman led him away from the rings dripping in diamonds to some of the rather more subdued designs.  Irritably, Harry let the man go on about the affordability of these rings along with the ‘prestige of the brand,’ whatever that meant.  Upon spotting the man’s sneer at his clothing, Harry finally decided to say something.  “You know,” he commented lightly.  “I was hoping for something a little more...I don’t know...worth a man of my stature?”  At the offended look on the salesman’s face, Harry summoned every memory of Draco Malfoy and sneered right back at the man.  “I am personally appalled that you would think I either would not want or cannot _afford_ the full prestige of the name.”

Instantly, the man offered him a half-bow.  “Of course not, Sir.  What sort of ring are you looking for?”

Harry pretended to scowl at him.  “Something _worth_ my money.  Do you think I would honestly wander in here if I didn’t _know_ the quality of what I’ll be paying for?” he improvised wildly.  “I should just leave and go somewhere else if this is how a paying customer is treated in your establishment!”

The man was instantly all apologies.  “Very sorry to have offended you, Sir.  Can I interest you in our signature collection?”  With a simpering air, he led Harry over to a case that sparkled with elaborate gemstones.  

Remembering Hermione’s words, Harry thought of what Ginny would want.  _She’s flashy_ , he thought as he passed some monstrous gemstones, _but not so much that she’d want something that’d throw her off balance on a broomstick!  Hmmm..._   He considered this, wincing at the painful thought of getting a diamond ring to the face accidentally, as accidental collisions occurred alarmingly often with the chasers.  _Don’t want something that’ll tear up the opponents, much as she’d love that_ , he mused.  _So not a very...protruding ring_...

He looked through the case again, spotting a round band encircled with diamonds.  “Could I see that one?”  He pointed at the ring in question, already fairly decided.  Almost instantly, the salesman had the ring was out of its case and sitting in front of Harry.  Carefully, he picked it up and looked it over.  _Perfect._   _Flashy, but she’ll still be able to wear it while playing._

“I’ll take it,” Harry said quietly.  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

The man bowed, used to the peculiarities of his customers.  “Of course, Sir.  Shall I gift-wrap it for you?”

Harry shook his head and walked out of the store, single-mindedly heading towards Gringotts.  

 

_Single-minded prat_ , Hermione thought irritably to herself as she sat down in the office of Damyan Petrov, the head of the Department of Justice within the Bulgarian ministry.  Already, half his department had sneered at her, knowing her to be the ‘upstart mud-blood’ Petrov had railed about.  But she sat calmly, sipping coffee as she waited for the irritating man to arrive.  She’d scarcely had time to say hello to Percy before Petrov’s agents had reached her, informing her of the department head’s hope for an immediate meeting.  She glowered at the room as she waited.  Despite the apparent urgency of this, she’d waited for at least fifteen minutes without the slightest sign of her host.

The door opened and was closed again quietly.  She stood quickly and spun around to see a dark man with familiar features standing before her.  “Ah, _dobre doshal_ , _gospojitsa_ Granger.  A pleasure to finally meet you.”  He offered a half bow.  “Your reputation precedes you, of course.  I believe you know my cousin, _Gospodin_ Krum.”

She nodded, wary of this man.  “I do, Mr Petrov.  We’ve been friends for years.”

He smiled warmly.  “You will be happy to know then, that he has transferred to an English team for Quidditch.  Puddlemere United, if I am not mistaken.  Although, I do not believe it is well known; he told me that I probably should not mention it very much.”  

Against her will, she smiled at the slim man.  “Well, thank you very much for letting me know, then.  I shall make sure to see a game when I’m back in England.”  She bit back the urge to roll her eyes.  _Years of frustrating responses between our departments, and you can’t bring yourself to even hint at what you_ really _think of my presence here?  Get it over with already._

“I have been pleased,” Petrov continued, “with the diligence of _Gospodin_ Weasley.  I presume you have already met with him and his team.”

“Briefly, Sir.  Your missive arrived much sooner than I had anticipated.  I must admit, I was rather surprised you requested a private meeting.  My duty is to the team, to ensure that justice is dealt for those with blood on their hands.”  She innocently smiled up at Petrov, who was fighting to conceal the disdain he felt for her.  

“ _Gospojitsa_ Granger, you must understand.  Weasley and his team are all members of the international cooperation department.  We are for justice; they are for diplomacy.  It is obvious that we will be working far closer.”

_And that you want to know just how much trouble I’m going to give you_ , she thought with a smile.  “Well-said, Mr Petrov.  But it is my hope that diplomacy and justice may align themselves on this and all occasions.  Mr Weasley has an excellent understanding of the law in these matters; I am merely here to assist and provide him with greater insight into the run of the Department.  It is my hope that I’ll be able to provide him and you with the means to an agreeable end.”  Hermione smiled again.  “Sir?”

He nodded to her.  “Of course, _Gospojitsa._ Now, I have business to attend to, but it has been a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to working with you.”

She thanked him and got up to go.  She had scarcely left the room before Petrov’s smile fell.  “ _Mudblood bitch,_ ” he muttered.  “ _Interfering...meddling...no pedigree at all...”_ With a last glower at the door, he apparated off. 

 


	3. Chapter the Second

**Chapter the Second**

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Much as I appreciate your kind apology and offer of redress, I see no possible means of doing so. The Auror department clearly has quite enough on its plate without my situation, tragic though it may be. The combined efforts of Law Enforcement and International Cooperation seem to have done naught towards the extradition of the vicious and disgusting criminals that are still running amok throughout the land._

_In addition to that diplomatic mess, I have suffered a rheumatism in my shoulder as of this past week. Once again, I highly doubt that there is_ anything _you or the Auror department can do for such things._

_Sincerely,_

_Eliza J. Thumble_

With an irritated and rather incoherent grumble, Harry stuffed the letter into his coat pocket next to the alarmingly turquoise box. He’d heard about the woman’s letters in the past, but he had to admit that he’d never expected her correspondence to be quite so politely scathing or so determined. It’d only been a few hours since he’d sent off his missive, yet here her response was, not half an hour before he was finally leaving for dinner at the Burrow.

Shrugging his shoulders, he went back to carefully reading through the latest news from his team of Aurors undercover in Bulgaria. _Two arrests made public this afternoon; dark wizards, possibly in connection with Target. Mentioned likelihood of capture in last missive. Are to be formally charged with Conspiracy and Sedition against the government; sentencing virtually certain, provided evidence as given to P. Weasley is used._

_In addition, overwhelming evidence points to Target being responsible for the triple murder in Burgas on evening 5 July. Target attacked and killed Simeon Nankov, he being highest ranked Muggle-born in Bulgarian ministry—also murdered wife and child. Ministry and Petrov still to comment. Concerned there is support for Target within Ministry; could pose major problem in bringing to justice. Also suspicion of recruitment. Evidence of multiple offensive wizards at scene of crime._

Harry bit his lower lip, more concerned than he had been. “Bugger,” he muttered under his breath as he read through the rest of the report. The details of the attack were included, and he grimaced. He hadn’t seen an attack this bad since the war itself. The house was destroyed; the victims had been subjected to the Cruciatus curse before they were murdered; the couple’s young son had been torn to pieces. 

“Well,” Harry muttered under his breath, “time to see what Petrov does with this. He can’t ignore someone in the ministry getting murdered, even if he’s turned a blind eye to the evidence until it’s practically smacking him in the face.” A small smile curled his lips in anticipation. “We can finally be done with this, and I can worry about something else for a change.” 

He carefully filed the report and stretched in his chair. He knew he was late for dinner at the Burrow, but the need to be done with the work that had consumed the past three years of his life was overwhelming. _Just another ten minutes_ , he thought to himself, reaching into the massive file he now had on Yaxley. _I want to get everything filed_. Hurriedly, he set to work on organising the day’s tasks.

A cough behind him made smile. “Yes, Ron. I’m coming.”

Ron laughed as Harry slowly got to his feet. “You’ve been working too hard, mate. They’ve got you running the show on this Bulgarian nonsense.”

He nodded at that. “I’ve half a mind to send a few more Aurors down there. It looks worse than it originally did, even if we have more we can trace him on. We managed to get two men arrested, but there’s been a triple murder of a Muggle-born family.” He glanced at Ron, pretending to consider something. “How would you feel about an all-expenses paid trip to Sofia?”

“Oh, the glamour of being an Auror,” Ron laughed. “You know, with Hermione being there, I might take you up on that. I was thinking about asking her to move in with me.”

Harry stared at him. “Your mum would string you up by your—“

“Yeah, I know,” Ron muttered irritably. “Besides, I wouldn’t ask her to move in while I’m still sharing your place. It’s already weird enough when my sister comes over and you guys disappear for hours.” 

“Like you and Hermione don’t do the same thing?” Harry countered. “Anyway, you know I’m going to make an honest woman of your sister.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the turquoise box. “I got this on my lunch break.”

Carefully, Ron took the box and looked inside. “Bloody hell, mate. How much did this thing cost?”

“Not a quarter of what she’s worth, but enough that you’re buying groceries the next two weeks,” he said with a grin. “Now come on, aren’t we already late for dinner? Your mum’s going to kill us.”

“Me, maybe. Show her this thing and you’ll be able to show up as late as you bloody well like.” Considering this, Ron grimaced as he handed Harry back the box. “On second thought, don’t show her. She’ll go spare like she did when Bill came home and said he was engaged. I never thought Mum was going to stop crying. And remember Percy’s wedding?”

Harry blanched, remembering Bill’s wedding and the never-ending preparations for it in horrifying clarity, somehow eclipsing the nightmarish events that had followed. “Oh Merlin....” he muttered. “This is going to be appalling, isn’t it?”

The two young men walked toward the elevator. “Well, you see, that depends entirely on whether or not Mum finds out before you ask Ginny. Mum’s been planning her only daughter’s wedding since Ginny was about three, and I can guarantee you that if Mum finds out, she will have the whole thing planned before Gin’s even got the ring on her finger.”

Harry looked so horrified Ron couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, keep hope. You guys could always elope. Go on holiday, come back married.”

This did not, however, seem to help much in terms of assuaging Harry’s panic over Mrs. Weasley’s long-standing wedding plans. 

“I think you should tell Dad, though. Some mental Muggle tradition. I was at Hermione’s parents’ house last fall, and I walked into the study trying to find the loo, and Hermione’s dad was in there. He got all weird, seemed really nervous. Then I asked where the toilet was and the first words out of his mouth were ‘Thank God, I thought you were going to ask to marry my daughter.’ We couldn’t look at each other for the rest of the day.” Ron shook his head at the memory.

Harry stared at him as the elevator door shut. “Not helpful, Ron!”

“Seriously, just tell him it’s a Muggle tradition,” the red-head pressed on. “He’ll be even more thrilled than he’ll already be, and you might be able to persuade him not to tell Mum or my brothers.” 

Harry just groaned. “Remind me why I fell in love with a girl with five older brothers?” 

Ron burst out laughing as the doors into the lobby opened. “Same reason I fell for the bossiest witch in the world.” He grinned at Harry. “See you at the Burrow.” Ron turned on the spot, Harry doing so a moment behind him. 

Arriving in the yard of the Burrow, Harry felt a great deal of his tension vanish as the blissfully familiar scent of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking filled the air. Ron was already halfway to the house, shouting a greeting to his mother. 

“Sorry we’re late, Mum!” he yelled as he threw open the door.

Harry strode forward, walking into the house a moment behind Ron. The house was in its typical semi-hectic state; Ron was already talking eagerly to George over the latest invention; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both working on dinner, and Bill was sitting happily at his old kitchen table.

“Fleur’s mum wanted to take her daughter and granddaughter out shopping, just the three girls,” Bill explained at Harry’s questioning look. “And I’d be a fool to say no to Mum’s cooking.” He flashed a grin over at his mother, who rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t know who needs _haute couture_ at two,” Harry thought he heard her mutter before she swept him up in a hug. “My goodness, Harry! You look so tired! You’re working too hard; I’m always telling Ron that. No wonder the both of you always look so drawn.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a darkly significant look as he sat down next to Bill. His traitorous best friend only laughed and silently mouthed “Welcome to the family.”

George, who had been watching the proceedings bemusedly, did not miss this. “Something you’d like to share, Ronald?” he asked quietly in a cunning impression of Professor McGonagall. “Secrets are not to be borne in my...” He grinned—“classroom.” He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Or perhaps my favourite former protégé will share.” George waited, the question hanging in the air.

Ron started to say something, but Harry shot him a look before meeting George’s gaze. “Before we got here I was just telling Ron how I feel like sometimes I don’t get quite enough attention in the department; must have touched a nerve,” Harry deadpanned before glaring at George. “But then I come here and get all the attention in the world!”

Notorious prankster as he was, George was not remotely mollified, but the look on Harry’s face even as he laughed suggested pressing the question would only end badly. “This isn’t over,” he whispered to Harry with a mock-glare.

“And it never will be,” Harry retorted with a grin. “Pry all you want.” Leaning back in his chair, he smirked obnoxiously, pretending that he couldn’t feel the box in his pocket pressing into his leg. 

“What are you boys on about now?” Mrs. Weasley asked with a smile as she carried over a heaping plate of pasta.

“Just work,” Harry responded smoothly. “It’s been a bit of a headache lately.” He shrugged and smiled, hoping she hadn’t caught onto the conversation topic. Dinner otherwise went smoothly, Bill sharing stories of Victoire’s misadventures trying to learn to speak in both French and English, sometimes combining the two to comic results. As he told and retold stories of his daughter, his eyes gleamed with pride for his little girl. 

Harry couldn’t hear this without imagining a baby of his own with Ginny. Would their kids have the Weasley hair? Would they get his eyes or their mum’s rich brown ones? He smiled, picturing this scene vividly.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted this by asking Ron and Harry about work, smiling as they talked about the two arrests recently made in Bulgaria, carefully leaving out many of the details. Dinner passed quickly, and as Mrs. Weasley turned to Bill, demanding to know why his two year old daughter was running around in high fashion, Mr. Weasley slipped off to his tool-shed stealthily. 

Steeling himself for the worst, Harry followed him outside a few minutes later, slipping out as Bill dug in his heels in his latest argument with his mother. Opening the door, he stared in at the shed full of plugs, circuits, and random Muggle appliances. He stepped inside, clearing his throat loudly, and the older man looked up from his tinkering with surprise. “Harry, what’re you doing out here? I thought Molly was bound to corner you and Ron next for letting Hermione go off to Bulgaria without the two of you along.”

Harry grinned wryly at that. “Turns out two-year olds in French fashion are more irritating to her than that. Anyway, um, there was something I’d like to...I’d like to talk to you about, Mr. Weasley.”

He looked baffled but he nodded. “Well, pull up a stool, son. What can I do for you?”

Hearing Mr. Weasley call him ‘son’ was the only thing that galvanised his strength enough to speak. “Well, um, Sir...it’s a bit of a Muggle tradition, but I, uh, was wondering...” He grimaced, and Mr. Weasley nodded encouragingly. “Well, um...I wanted to ask you if it’s, well, alright with you if I ask Ginny to marry me.” Harry’s mouth had never been dryer, and the silence as Mr. Weasley looked downwards was absolutely unbearable. 

“You’re going to ask my baby girl to marry you?” Mr. Weasley asked hoarsely, his blue eyes brimming with tears. 

Harry nodded solemnly, the urge to become mildly hysterical overwhelming. “I wanted you to know, and I was hoping for your blessing.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “I’m proud to—unofficially of course—give you my blessing and congratulations.” He beamed at Harry. “Brilliant Muggle tradition...oh, I’m so proud of you!” He shook Harry’s hand heartily before leaning in conspiratorially. “Do you want me to tell Molly or shall we let Ginny surprise her when the happy event happens?”

Harry looked slightly overwhelmed. “Um, honestly, Sir, I think we should let Ginny surprise her. I mean, I haven’t even figured out when I’ll ask her. I’ve got a ring, so I suppose I could ask her as soon as she gets home, but I really have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” He grinned half-heartedly at Mr. Weasley, hoping desperately for some sympathy. 

“No one does; I didn’t. But we all figure it out eventually,” Mr. Weasley said with a warm smile. “Now you’d best get inside before Molly or George cottons on to your absence.” The two men both stood, and on impulse, Mr. Weasley pulled Harry into a hug. “You’ve been like another son to me. Welcome to the family.”

Fighting back tears, Mr. Weasley sat back down to a pile of batteries as his soon-to-be son snuck back inside. 

~

“...We offer our deepest condolences to the family of _Gospodin_ Nankov, and I here vow that the Department of Justice will not rest until the murderers of such a valued Ministry employee and caring family are found and put behind bars. I shall devote my deepest efforts to the task, and you have my assurances that such vile criminals will not be allowed to go free.”

Bowing slightly to the gathered crowd, Damyan Petrov walked back into the Ministry. The people gathered in the Wizarding District began to head in their various directions. From her vantage point, Hermione turned to the redhead next to her. “Think he meant it?” she asked Percy quietly. “He’s famous for absolutely despising Muggle-borns.”

He smirked. “That may be—and even _is_ —the case, but you can’t ignore a murder within the Ministry without doing _something_ about it. My bet is that he’ll produce some disreputable scapegoat so he can go back to despising Muggle-borns in peace.” He shook his head, his pale forehead beaded with sweat in the hot July. “I’m still amazed they arrested those two Dark wizards. Of course, it took our Aurors tipping off the Bulgarian Ministry. I’ll be amazed if they’re found guilty by the courts. It’ll be loads of fun for you trying to convince the Bulgarian advocates that they’ll have to use English evidence to even have a chance of a conviction.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Surely not everyone here is prejudiced against me and my ilk?”

He looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “I’ve had enough problems from my opposite number just because I’m British. You may be one of the smartest witches I’ve had the fortune of working with, but they will despise you for that, if not already for being Muggle-born, female, and British.” He shook his head wryly. “It’ll be interesting on the ground here for a few weeks, I’m sure.”

She nodded, starting to walk back to the hotel where she and the rest of the English team were stationed. “That it certainly will.” She lowered her voice, her words barely audible. “How often do you hear from the Auror team here?”

Percy glanced around them quickly. Barely moving his lips, he muttered, “The ones they know about, or the ones they don’t?”

Hermione couldn’t help but grin at that. “Look,” Percy said quietly. “We’ll get a late supper with the team; I’ll get you up to speed then. It’s best not to discuss in the open.” 

She raised an eyebrow at that. “It’s that bad?” 

He shook his head. “It’s a bloody _miracle_ those two were arrested today, and not just because of the work in trying to track them down.” He refused to continue, though, his brow furrowed as he twisted his wedding ring nervously. “Audrey and my suite at seven thirty? We’ll serve dinner. Bring the team.”

She nodded solemnly. “I’ll see you there.”

A few hours later, Hermione and a small group of various ministry workers sat in Percy’s executive suite listening intently to the patronus message of an Auror in the field. “...Target left Burgas after the incident in question; have swept area for any signs of current location. Target is likely being sheltered by a wizard; tracking him to location will be difficult.”

Hermione bit back a groan as the patronus message continued. “However, other members of Stealth have confirmed earlier suspicions. Great deal of discussion in some areas as regards attacks in a favourable light. Those lauding actions of Target are being tracked as much as Stealth can manage. Bulk of unrest is in Sofia and Plovdiv; will examine more thoroughly.” With that, the patronus dissolved away, and Percy tossed a map onto the table in the centre of the room. 

“Alright,” he said slowly. “There’s an auror assigned to each Wizarding District here in Sofia and Plovdiv; there are several more stationed in Burgas and Varna, and then there are a pair specifically for each region of the country. We don’t want anyone slipping through our fingers here.” He grinned wryly, adjusting his glasses. “We know that Petrov and the Bulgarian _Paznic_ know about Proudfoot and Dawlish here in Sofia; a few others may have been compromised but nothing definite has come back. In the meantime, our lads are laying low and keeping a very close eye on anything that goes on, the slightest whispering of Dark activity.” 

Percy flicked his wand at the map and turned to face the small group as it rolled itself back up. “However,” he said solemnly, “that is not our current concern. Stealth will report directly to us and to Special Operations if there is anything that concerns us, as there was with the arrests today. We, however, must be diplomacy itself.” He cleared his throat loudly, and Hermione knew they were in for a speech. “It is our job to keep Petrov and the Justice Department happy with us. We are here to assist them in serving justice to criminals, and if we can manage to convince them to arrest a few of our own, that’d be ideal. The lack of extradition is a major diplomatic problem, and I need all of us to argue for it while not estranging the very people we’re trying to convince. The Aurors will do their job, now we’ve got to do ours.

“However, I want to make totally clear the expectations for our team. We are to convince Petrov to help find our Target and bring him to justice. We are not to search for our Target. We are not to allude to our Aurors being in the country and searching for the Target. Special Operations has nothing to do with _our_ job here, at least not once we leave this room. We are _only_ to discuss those matters when we are in a carefully secured environment. If we’ve got spies everywhere, so do they. Trust _no one._ ” He looked them over very carefully. “We are here to argue magical law and possibly negotiate a treaty between our countries for the post-war Britain, nothing more, nothing less. Is that perfectly understood?” 

Hermione and the rest of the team nodded, and she stood. “I’m glad you felt the need to clarify all that, Percy,” she said with a small smile. “But Petrov praised your diligence. Let’s get to work, shall we?” 


	4. Chapter the Third

**Chapter the Third**

_Dear Mrs. Thumble,_ Harry scrawled on a sheet of paper, as he sat working in his study early that Saturday morning. 

_It grieves me that the Auror department can do little for what ails you, both at heart and in body. However, as regards the first, I shall be happy to speak to S. Robards on your behalf in addition to the actions I myself am already attempting on the matter. You may rest assured that we are all working to solve the problem, even as the problematic individuals attempt to perpetuate the situation. Your concerns and those of the Wizarding people are of great importance to the Auror department._

Harry paused, wondering if he’d gone too over-the-top with that last. Deciding that he didn’t much care as he was being forced to work, admittedly from home, on a Saturday, Harry barrelled on.

_As regards your rheumatic shoulder, I personally can do little to aid you save recommend others who are far more knowledgeable about the complex and admirable art of Healing. I would like to take this opportunity to suggest contacting Miss S. Bones at St. Mungo’s. I can assure you she is a very bright and able Healer, who, if not able to attend to your needs, will at least be able to put you in the capable hands of someone who can._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Mr. Harry J. Potter_

_Head of Special Operations_

Sealing the letter, Harry set it down atop a pile of papers and plodded into the kitchen of the flat. Much to his surprise, a bleary-eyed Ron was blinking back at him. 

“What’re you doing up this early?” Harry asked quietly as he sank into a chair and grabbed a slice of toast.

“George. Store. Massive sale,” Ron groaned, mouth half full of his breakfast. “Opens at eight.” He trailed off with a noise Harry usually associated with dying animals. 

Though he shuddered appreciatively, Harry supposed he was in no place to talk, being forced to devote his Saturday to the constantly growing pile of paperwork. “Have fun with that, then.” He smirked before turning to the plate of toast sitting in the middle of the table. 

After a few cups of coffee, Ron glanced up at Harry again. “So what time’s Ginny home?” he asked, sounding rather more coherent than he had fifteen minutes earlier. “Just thought I’d ask, so I’m not forced to murder you or claw my own eyeballs out by walking in on you two accidentally.” Ron glowered at the thought but pressed on. “I thought I’d never be clean again after seeing you two all over each other on the couch!”

Harry got up from the table, raising an eyebrow. “Two words, Ron,” he retorted, smirking. “Lavender. Brown.” Grabbing his coffee mug from the table, he sauntered back into his study obnoxiously. 

“Uncalled for!” he heard Ron yell from the kitchen. “That was years ago!”

“And still disgusting!” Harry shouted back, now turning to face the enormous pile of paperwork on his desk. It seemed to have grown in the twenty minutes he’d been at breakfast. _Does this stuff_ breed _?_ Harry wondered to himself. _It has to have done so. There’s no way I left this much sitting around_. 

Harry heard the crack of Ron disapparating before he sat down at his desk, unsure of where to begin. Ponderously, he picked up the first folder on the main pile and flipped it open. “Transcript of Grand Jury Proceedings with Wizengamot, Case 427A-93, Emmons v. Britain, Sections 1A-34H.” Harry sighed bitterly. “Any particular reason why I need the full transcript, lads?” he asked the empty room. “How many times; just the pertinent parts!” Ignoring the transcript completely, Harry flipped past it to the actual accompanying memo and form. “Clearance needed for Auror testimony in proceedings?” he muttered. “Must’ve linked him to that death in Somerset last fall...” 

Glancing over the form, he rolled his eyes at the increasing amounts of red tape, but scrawled his signature on the bottom, quickly filling in the details of the previous case alluded to. He worked quickly, slowly dredging his way through the endless swamp of paperwork. Evidence requisitions, reassignments, and coded orders swam through his fingers and thoughts as the morning flew by in a flurry of ink and coffee. 

Harry was startled from his work by a knock at the door. “Oh bugger,” he muttered as he ran into the main part of his flat. “Be right there!” he shouted, trying to throw as many of the dirty dishes into the sink as he could. Quickly making sure the main room of the flat was at least vaguely clean, he threw open the door to see Andromeda Tonks. She smiled at him serenely before he was nearly knocked over by a blow to the knees. 

“Harry!” the blur of motion screeched before barrelling into him again. 

“Oooph!” was Harry’s extremely coherent response as he tried to motion Andromeda in while holding Teddy back from his legs. “Come on in!” 

The austere older woman walked in, a shocking contrast to the lime green headed ball of energy that was now doing a dizzying figure eight around Harry’s lounge furniture. “How are you, dear?” she asked quietly, sitting down on the couch. 

Harry grinned as Teddy sprang up on the couch next to his grandmother. “Busy, but decently well otherwise. I can see Teddy’s running you half-ragged?” He raised an eyebrow at her. 

She rolled her eyes as Teddy bounced up and down, tugging on Harry’s sleeve and saying his name repeatedly. “We’re going into Diagon Alley this afternoon and _that_ young troublemaker insisted we stop by.”

Harry finally looked down at his wildly bouncing godson who looked like he might actually fall off the couch. “Did you, now? Any particular reason?” He pretended to glare before picking the boy up and setting him on his knee. 

The three year old shrugged, beaming up at his godfather, his hair turning from an eye-watering lime green to an unruly jet black. “I fell off my broom!” he announced, yanking up his trouser leg to reveal a spectacular bruise on his knee. “It hurt but it was fun!” 

Harry grinned. “Did you run into anything? I’m not convinced you’re flying fast enough.” He heard Andromeda gasp at him, but he ignored her and pressed on. “You know what would really shock your Nana?”

Teddy looked at him wide-eyed. “What? Tell me tell me tell me tell me, Harry, please?” He dragged out the last word dramatically, but Harry held a finger to his lips. 

“I’ll tell you later,” he said quietly. “We don’t want your Nana cottoning on, now do we?” He threw a devilish grin over his shoulder at Andromeda, who was now pretending to glare at him. 

She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she said forcefully. “I’m afraid of what you’ll be like when he hits Hogwarts.”

“I’ll tell him where all the secret passageways are, and how to get into the kitchens, and the best way to irritate Professor McGonagall without getting in trouble, and how to sleep through Binns’ class unnoticed...” he trailed off as Andromeda shook her head.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say _you_ were the one related to Sirius,” she retorted. “I was only there for his first and second years, but I can’t count the number of detentions he had. Even _my_ mother was sending him Howlers at every opportunity.”

He grinned cheekily. “And my dad was there the whole time, egging him on. Besides, I think Teddy’s dad would like his son to grow up a proper Marauder.”

“He doesn’t need any help, trust me,” Andromeda muttered before grinning in return. 

Teddy’s attention had strayed while Harry and Andromeda were talking, but now he burst out with, “Harry, can you come to Diagon Alley with us? We’re getting a _pygmy puff_ and it’s going to be _mine_ to take care of all by myself!”

“Teddy...” Andromeda said. “Your godfather’s very busy. Ginny’s coming home today and I’m sure he’s got a lot of work to do before she gets here.”

The boy looked confused. “Can’t he come anyway, and do the work _after_ Ginny gets back?”

Harry grinned at his godson. “I’d love to come and help you pick out a pygmy puff, but if it’s going to be all yours, I want you to pick all by yourself. I’ll come over in a few days when you’ve got it all settled in and named, okay?”

Teddy considered this. “Okay. And I can show you how fast I can fly!” He pretended to grip a broom and made whooshing noises while Harry and Andromeda laughed. 

“So, have you got anything planned for Ginny’s arrival?” Andromeda asked. “I know she’s been in France for two weeks for an exhibition with the Harpies.”

“Well, I think we’re staying in tonight, though we might go out for a late dinner,” he murmured. “I hadn’t really planned anything special.” His thoughts strayed to the turquoise box that was now locked in his desk, and he felt a moment of panic on that front. “Actually, Andromeda...there’s something I wanted to, um, ask you about on that front.”

Andromeda looked bemused. “Anything, dear.”

“Well, um. Hang on.” Dashing into his study, he unlocked the drawer and pulled out the box. Andromeda noticed it instantly. 

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked quietly. “You’re going to ask her?”

Harry nodded, his cheeks red as he opened the box. “I have no idea what I’m doing though. Hermione told me to think about what she’d want, and I’ve done that and I still have no idea when I’m going to ask her or how to do it.”

Andromeda smiled sadly at him. “You remind me of Ted sometimes. He told me later that he was absolutely terrified when he asked me to marry him.” She looked out towards the window, thoughts completely in the past. “He took me out to dinner and proposed over dessert. I thought he’d gone completely mental because there we were in this Muggle restaurant and he’s squirming about. Eventually he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, right there in the middle of the restaurant.” She sighed at the now bittersweet memory. “We were so young, and we eloped the next month.”

“He proposed during dinner?” Harry asked, latching onto the idea desperately. “Okay...maybe I’ll do that, then.”

She smiled encouragingly. “Take your time and think about what you’re doing, Harry. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled, but she’s going to remember this for the rest of her life. You want to make sure it’s something special and romantic for her.” 

_Not so helpful_ , he thought to himself, fighting back a groan. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. But dinner, yes?”

She nodded, fighting back a smile unsuccessfully. “You’d be fine, Harry. Ginny adores you and will be thrilled even if you can barely get the words out.” She patted him on the back comfortingly. “Teddy and I need to be getting into Diagon Alley, but we’d be happy to have you and Ginny over in the next few days if you’d like.” 

He tried to smile, as Andromeda was beaming at him like there was absolutely no problem. “Of course. We’d be happy to join you.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Hopefully by then I’ll be able to offer you my congratulations?” she asked. “I can keep a secret of course, but I’d love to be able to celebrate the good news.”

“Of course!” he said mock-confidently. “I’m not going to ask tonight, but I’ll do so soon!” 

“Good lad,” Andromeda murmured affectionately. “Now Teddy and I need to be off; I promised him we’d go to that health-endangering Weasley store to get his pygmy puff and he can’t spend less than an hour in there.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow at his godson, who looked up from peering under various cushions to blush violently. He shrugged and lightened his tone. “Well, you’re getting off better than me, then. Say hi to Ron when you’re in there; George still has him work the sales.” 

“Of course I’ll give both of the Mr. Weasleys your regards. Best of luck to you and Ginny,” she said warmly before picking Teddy up off the ground where he was now peering under Harry’s couch. “Wave goodbye to your godfather, Teddy.”

Harry waved at the dark-haired boy with a merry grin. “Have a good time this afternoon. I’ll owl with my plans for this week.” 

Pausing at the door to wave, Andromeda swept off with Teddy, leaving Harry to sprawl himself out on his couch. His attempt at relaxation was foiled by his discovery of a plastic toy with the small of his back. Groaning in pain, he stumbled to his feet and back to his study.

It was hours later that the sound of the door of his flat creaking ever so slightly drew him from his focused work. His hand flew to his wand and he got up instantly, staring at the door before grinning wildly. _Ginny_ , he thought. _You’d think she’d learn not to try to sneak up on an Auror_.

Silently he crept into the corner, listening for the barely audible but distinctive sound of a particular witch’s tread on hardwood floors. He couldn’t stop grinning. _Two weeks is way too long_.

He froze as the doorknob to the study turned slowly. He heard her stifle a giggle before she threw open the door, starting to yell, “Surprise!”

She got the first syllable out before Harry tackled her to the ground and started tickling her mercilessly. “Augh, no!” she screeched, squirming under him as his fingers quickly found her ribs. Wildly, she flipped over, her red hair flying everywhere as she tried to escape. “Harry!” 

His only response was to capture her lips with his own, snogging her wildly on the floor of his study. She pulled him closer and Harry forgot about any amounts of work or pressing problems he had. Ginny was back in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

___________________________________________________________________________  


It was some time later that Harry found himself resting his head on her stomach. Looking up at her, he grinned cheekily. “So once again I’ve reminded you what happens when you try to sneak up on me.” He rolled to the side as she swatted at him. 

“I forgot how much an arse you are sometimes,” she said with a joking smile. “I think I’ll go back to France, where all the blokes were smarming up to me with compliments and flowers, instead of jump-tackling me like a bloody caveman the moment I walk in the door.”

Harry shrugged a bit as he sat up next to her. “You’re lucky I didn’t hex you, high-profile Auror that I am. I could be attacked at any moment.” He raised his eyebrows dramatically, but Ginny shoved the side of his head playfully.

“Next thing I know you’ll be lecturing me about constant vigilance and insist on setting booby traps for me to get ‘round just to get in your flat,” she teased. 

“Oh, didn’t they go off?” he asked, feigning disappointment. “I usually make sure no one can get past the door without at least half a dozen hexes going off. I must be losing my touch.”

Clucking disapprovingly, Ginny asked, “What will your superiors say when they hear about this? No more lucrative promotions for you if you’re just going to fanny about on the job, especially not if you get attacked by some madman in the night.”

Harry grinned at her, leaning in and kissing her swiftly. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Who else makes sure I’m up half the night figuring out ways to secure my own flat against non-existent attackers?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be me,” Ginny said with an obnoxious smirk, “if you were being constantly vigilant as we were taught.” She bounded to her feet and shook out her hair. “Clearly, all this peace has gotten to your head, Potter,” she barked. “Just because no would ever in their life dream of attacking you except your girlfriend and her horde of older brothers, that’s no excuse not to have seven layers of defence and twelve different possible escape routes.” The long-dead shade of Alastor Moody seemed to have reincarnated itself in Ginny Weasley.

“I could jump out the window,” Harry offered as he got to his feet. “But I’d really much rather stay here with the only person lunatic enough to attack me.” 

She held the glare for a moment longer before grinning. “So did you follow the Harpies’ games at all these last two weeks?” she asked with a beam. 

“No, I have no idea that you managed to completely destroy half of the French teams,” Harry commented lightly. “I am a horrible boyfriend and spent all of my time drinking Firewhiskey and working instead of listening intently to the wireless to the point where Ron told me to turn the damn thing off and go to work already.”

“Obviously,” she agreed. “While you were being horrible, did you happen to hear the exhibition game against the Quafflepunchers?”

“I heard you turned their own name against them, both when you scored half a dozen goals and when you punched one of the opposing chasers for, what was it...?” He smirked at Ginny, who was pink with a mix of glee and embarrassment. 

“He may have propositioned me in French, and unfortunately for him, I have a sister-in-law who taught me all the dirty words before I left.” She leaned against the wall, laughing at herself a bit. “It was all I could do to keep from Bat-Bogeying him. Smarmy French bastard,” she muttered. “Who is so different from the smarmy English bastard who tackled you to the floor forty-five minutes ago?” he asked. 

“Vastly so,” Ginny remarked quietly. “You see, I’m slightly in love with the smarmy English bastard, and so he _gets_ to tackle me to the floor within two seconds of walking in the door and do the sort of things the French bloke suggested.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows at her before pulling her into his arms. “I missed you loads,” he murmured. “All quips aside, I’m really glad you’re back.” 

She snuggled into his arms for a few moments before asking, “So, what’ve I missed in the last two weeks? I noticed a conspicuous lack of my charming older brother when I came in, so he’s...?”

“Ron’s been helping George all day, and he knew you were due back today so he cleared off like a proper best mate,” Harry said with a grin. “Good thing, too. I doubt he’d have much liked me tackling his baby sister to the ground, and I really think he’d feel obliged to kill me for ravishing you on the floor.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Ravishing? Did Hermione leave a romance novel here or something for you to pick up that word?” 

He shook his head. “Hermione’s in Bulgaria. She left yesterday morning to help Percy with the worsening imbroglio. My team there’s helped make some arrests, so hopefully the situation will improve.” He pulled her into the kitchen and sat down at the table with a grin. “So...tell me about France. Did you have a good tour? I’ll pretend like I actually was horrible and paid no attention to the wireless reports or the Daily Prophet.”

She grinned at him. “Well, then you know that we won eight out of ten games, and it was all exhibition. One of the French teams is going to be touring next year in the off-season, so this was an exchange of sorts, but we showed really well. Gwenog’s really excited for this season.” She sat down at the table, summoning a bottle of wine for the two of them. “We played really well against Orléans, and they’re the favourites for the French League this year. We won two hundred ten to one hundred ninety. Really close game,” she commented with a wry grin. “I thought Gwenog was going to have my head if the other chasers and I didn’t step up our game. Of course, we followed it up with an unmitigated slaughter at Rheims, so it was all well in the end.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “I take it you had a good time then? Enjoyed France?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “Of course I enjoyed it! We spent three days in Paris, but something about pastry shops on every corner ended in the entire team going for a midnight run through the Tuileries.” 

Laughing, Harry got up and grabbed a bottle of wine from the cabinet and a pair of glasses. “I’m sure you would have burned it all off instantly in the Orléans and Quiberon games. Besides, you don’t need to go running; you look incredible.” He poured two glasses before walking back to the table

“Yes, but you _have_ to say that or I’ll hit you.” Ginny glared at him, halting him in his tracks for several seconds before cracking a smile. “Anyway, France was lovely and there’s no way we’re not going there at some point. I still can’t _believe_ we lost to Poitiers and Grenoble, but that’s all well and good, because I’m ready for the season to start so I can start irritating Ron by pounding the Cannons into the ground. Again.”

Harry’s mind was on the first point, though, caught up in a vivid fantasy of honeymooning in Paris, spending glorious hours making love in a sumptuous hotel room on a balcony looking out at the Eiffel Tower. He supposed Hermione would have something to say about that Muggle bloke Freud she was always complaining about, but the idea was undeniably appealing. “We’ll definitely get to France,” he agreed as he sat back down. “It sounds great, and I can’t wait to watch you and Ron argue about the latest horrendous seeker the Cannons get.” Offering her a glass of wine, he said, “To your victorious return, and to another brilliant season?”

She nodded and touched her glass to his. “To victory,” she murmured. Draining her glass, she fixed Harry with a gaze he could only describe as lusty. “So are we going to make more small talk, or are you going to take me into that bedroom and say ‘hello, Ginny’ properly...and preferably not on the floor?”

Harry needed no encouragement. Throwing off his sloppily buttoned shirt, he pulled Ginny up from the table and into his arms. Carrying her into the room and throwing her onto his bed, he murmured, “Hello, Ginny.”

____________________________________________________________________________  


Late at night in a Bulgarian hotel, Hermione sat at her table in her business suite, an enormous book open atop and a notebook filled with her impeccable script sitting precisely in place. Carefully, she poured over the tome, occasionally pausing to make a note of something. 

A knock at the door distracted from her studious atmosphere. She got up, legs sore from many hours sitting down, opening to the door to find Audrey Weasley standing on the threshold with a pot of coffee and a small plate of biscuits. 

“Audrey!” she exclaimed in surprise, beckoning her in. “Why on earth are you still up?”

The young woman grinned wryly. “I was tossing around an idea for back home and decided to take a walk rather than bother Percy. He’s a really light sleeper, so this was for the best. Anyway, I saw that your light was on so I decided to stop by with some coffee for you. I’m all too acquainted with working late into the night.”

Hermione beamed at her. “Thank you; I was just craving some coffee. Sit down and have a cup with me?”

Audrey nodded, and the two women sat down at the table. Carefully, Hermione marked her spot in the book before clearing away her materials to make room for the coffee pot and the plate. 

“Do you mind if I ask what you’re working on?” Audrey asked as she poured the coffee. “I mean, normally I wouldn’t, but I see you’ve got your personal copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica with you.”

Hermione laughed at that. “Not quite, though in terms of size you’re rather close. This is the complete documentation of the Nuremberg trials; you should see my other book on the records of the Muggle war crimes tribunal.”

Raising an eyebrow, Audrey asked quietly, “And just what are you planning on doing with all of that? That’s all Muggle law, not Magical.”

“True enough,” Hermione agreed. “However, one of the long-standing tenants of magical law is that it stays within the bounds of the Muggle law of the land in key points. Many crimes are punished in similar ways, but something that has largely been untouched in the Wizarding world is the Muggle concept of war crimes. We’ve only just started implementing this in Britain. Remember the trial of Dolores Umbridge, how it was argued that even though her actions were permitted under the authority of the time, they were in serious violation of human rights? I’m trying to implement that on an international scale such as has been done in the Muggle world with the Geneva Convention and the War Crimes Tribunal. There’s enough of a precedent with the imprisonment of Grindelwald side-by-side with the Nuremberg Trials after the Second World War that this can be argued not as a question of British law alongside Bulgarian law, but as a war crime. He committed grave offences against humanity; his creation of laws barring the right of Muggleborns to carry wands, his imprisonment of the innocent, his use of the Imperius curse on a figure of political authority. With such crimes, it shouldn’t be a question of whether most of his actions were legal in Britain at the time. The slaughter of Muggles was legal in Grindelwald’s Germany and twisted experimentation upon Muggleborns was encouraged and state-supported. But the moment he was ousted from power, it was a Wizarding extension of the Tribunal at Nuremberg that presided over the trial of Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore sitting alongside wizards from France, the USSR, the German resistance and provisional government, and even a delegate from the United States. It was decided by the international Wizarding community that Grindelwald’s crimes were against the Wizarding world as a whole.

“His advocate argued that he had acted under the laws of his country, but it was noted that he had created the brutal laws and then used them to his own evil purposes. This is why this will be so important to use. If we can try Yaxley on these terms instead of on the laws of Britain, his advocate will be unable to use the ‘legality’ of his actions as support for his crimes. I truly believe this would be the most important international law or precedent set since the Statute of Secrecy; we’ll be able to protect the innocent from crimes by their own government this way.” Hermione’s eyes were blazing with passion, looking as though she would be willing to take her fight for this far beyond the polite language of a diplomat. 

Audrey, however, was looking at her with her eyebrows raised, undeniably impressed. “When you got promoted to Magical Law in January, Percy told me you’d revolutionise the place. I laughed, wondering what a twenty-one year old could do against the years of corruption and red tape. Clearly, I’ve sorely underestimated you.” She grinned at Hermione, a gleam of hope and exhilaration in her eyes. “No wonder you and your friends have already changed the world once.”

“Once?” Hermione asked. “We haven’t changed it yet. This is _all_ a part of changing the world. I haven’t even gotten started yet.” 


End file.
